


I Think I Can Take Care of Myself

by Bluethursday



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: ...sometimes I make questionable life choices...that's not the point though, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Tim Drake, Dark, Funny, M/M, lets talk about him, look a lot of things are happening here, many things, sometimes I find that Tim Drake makes questionable life choices, the point is Tim Drake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 05:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluethursday/pseuds/Bluethursday
Summary: A series of stories that explore Slade and Tim…together…as in together like a couple…not like, stuck in an elevator together.





	1. Blue Set One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study in Slade and Tim based on the shades of blue as dictated by wikipedia.
> 
> Sample: “Do you ever think about anyone else when we’re in bed.” From the lips of a boy on the cusp of manhood in the middle of a battlefield, spoken like a comment.
> 
> Slade’s eyes flicker over to Tim and he grunts, “Is now really the time for this?”

1\. Air Force Blue

“Hi love.” Slade greets, his hands stretching towards the younger man who barrelled into him at first sight. He can feel Tim’s back heaving with each breath, each choked off sob.

“I can’t, I can’t..I, I.” Panting, the slighter of the two cuts himself off with a hiccup, “ I can’t do this anymore.” He finishes with a whisper.

Slade looks down at his lover, all red rimmed eyes, and rudy complexion. His watery gaze, his trembling hands. His trembling everything. Running one large hand through hair that had gone greasy and limp he replied, “Then don’t.”

Tim shuddered at the husky baritone, and the promise in those words, the call to lay down arms for a soldier too weary to continue, “I can’t.” He pleads. He’s not sure who he’s pleading to but he can’t.

The hiccuping sobs start again and Slade is everywhere. He’s rubbing his back and running his fingers through Tim’s hair and shushing him, “Shh, sh, sh, shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Any other time Tim would have hated this, being lied to, being told to calm down like a child, but here in the these arms he wants to believe.

2\. Air Superiority Blue

It’s a loaded gun. It’s a glint in the eyes. It’s -

“Do you ever think about anyone else when we’re in bed.” From the lips of a boy on the cusp of manhood in the middle of a battlefield, spoken like a comment.

Slade’s eyes flicker over to Tim and he grunts, “Is now really the time for this?”

Tim hums softly and breaks one of the enemies arms, “Do you?” He asks again, as though he wasn’t being unreasonable.

“No.” Slade curses, and dodges and swears.

Bullets in an alleyway it’s not like they have anywhere else to go.

Tim huffs like that wasn’t enough, like the words meant nothing and Slade curses himself for getting involve with a pretty one. No good ever came from something beautiful. Adelaide should have taught him that already.

“Okay.” Tim says,“I believe you.” The next thing he does is shoot Slade in the leg.

“Oops.” The younger one mocks, tucking the stolen weapon into the waistband of his jeans,

“Why don’t I help you with that.” He continues.

Slade snorts, “There’s something wrong with you. I hope you know that.”

Tim smiles, soft and sad, “You can always leave.”

Digging the bullet out with his fingers the white haired man snarls, “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be any fun without your claws.”

3\. Alice Blue

“Does Daddy know you take candy from strangers.” Slade purrs and Tim ignores him with a tilt of his shoulders for but a few moments before retorting, “Daddy doesn’t know a lot of things.”

Slade raises an eyebrow and Tim grins.

“I poisoned your drink.”

“You drank from my drink.” The assassin mentions and Tim, mysterious and mad as ever nods, “I know. That probably wasn’t the best idea.”

Resisting the urge to rub at his temples, Slade reminds the teen, “Did you forget about my healing or are you just that stupid.”

Tim’s eyes are far too bright to be normal in the dim lighting of the bar, a light sheen of sweat covers his forehead.

“I wanted to see what you would do.” He tells Slade before promptly passing out.

Slade sets his drink back down on the table and checks the boys pulse. Weak but still beating. Running his hands through his own hair he groans.

“…Fuck.”

Wanted to know what he would do indeed.

4\. Azure

“Is this a Bat thing?” Slade asks as Tim pokes around his things but touches nothing. He had found the teen in his hideout. Or rather, he had woken up and Tim had been in his kitchen eating his food.

“Nope.” The p, comes out hard, like the pop of a soda can. NoPe. Something like that, like a child.

Slade squints, “Is this some from of psychological warfare.” It’s too early for this shit.

Tim shakes his head, loose black hair swishing with the movement. Definitely not army standard, then again his own curls hadn’t been up to standard for a long while.

“Are you trying to become more acquainted with the darker side of things.” He tries again, as Tim pulls one of his swords from its sheath, testing the blade with his finger tips. If the brat lost a finger it would not be his problem.

Again Tim shook his head and sadly, did not, lose a finger.

….“Is this your way of showing affection?” He honestly hopes not.

Tim smiles.

Fuck.

“I have…no words.” Slade tells him. Tim cuts his fingers on Slade’s sword. On purpose, and Slade knows it because the little fucker kept smiling when he did it.

5\. Baby Blue

“Go away. Shoo.” Slade gestured, trying to get a good look at his newest target while his strange attachment followed him around like a deranged cat that had decided, yes, this human belonged to it and it would now follow its human whenever it so chose.

Most of the time telling Tim to leave got him a slightly bemused patronizing look. Like a cat. Today was no different and Slade’s instructions were summarily ignored.

Tim sat down on the rooftop, wiggled his butt a little against the cold rough surface, presumably to make himself more comfortable. He then pulled out a sandwich and started eating it.

Cats, Slade thought, were horrible creatures.

6\. Bleu de France

It was like the teen had imprinted on him when he wasn’t looking. He could find no other explanation for why the boy was in France in his hotel room, straddling his hips and looking at him like Slade was a very large, very amusing toy.

And poking his face. Especially poking his face.

Groaning the mercenary covered his face with a pillow.

7\. Blue-Gary

Opening his eyes Slade quickly shut them. The light stung, his head was pounding and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

A soft voice cooed at him and gentle hands ran a warm wet washcloth over his forehead. The last thing he could remember was a job going wrong and then-

And then nothing. He remembered a train and pier and water, but everything was broken into pieces. He was going to kill his dear employer for the mix up and he was going to make it hurt, but first…. he was going to summon the will to make it to the bathroom.

8\. Bondi

“You saved me.” Tim offers with no preamble.

Slade puts down the gun oil and nods, slowly as he can, as to not the startle the other who had become his very odd, very regular shadow (to the point where he wondered what the boy did when he wasn’t with Slade).

When he left for weeks on end and came back much the same.

Seeing that nothing was about to come forth without prompting, the mercenary chose his words, “You poisoned yourself in front of me.”

Tim doesn’t move, doesn't blink, “You could have left me there. You could have snapped my neck. You could have left me in front of Wayne Manor with a note.”

“I could have.” Slade admits.

Tim turns to look at him, eyes wide, “But you didn’t.”

“But I didn’t.” Slade repeats, his voice low.

9\. Brandeis

Burying his face into soft black hair Slade breathes deep, “Does Daddy know you’ve got a thing for the bad boys.”

“Of course, you do Daddy.” Tim sleepily replies and Slade chokes on his spit, “God that’s horrible.” The elder mercenary groans.

Tim grins, opening his eyes, rolling over in the strong arms that held him to face the elder, “You keep starting it.”

Kissing Tim’s nose Slade grins back.

“How badly do you think it would go if you called me than in bed?’‘The mercenary leered.

’'We’re in bed Daddy.” Tim replied dryly.

10\. Cambridge

“Never again.” Tim hissed, lying beside the larger man refusing to touch him. Both of them stared at the ceiling, blankets covering their genitals, eyes wide.

“We are never speaking about this.” Slade agreed.

“It never happened.” Tim hastily offers in return hands digging into the mattress.

11\. Carolina

“One day I’m going to tell Bruce.” Tim says, “And it’s going to be magical.”

“It’s going to get me dead.” Slade disagrees, although not terribly as his hand was still between Tim’s spread legs.

Tim rolls his eyes, “He’s not going to kill, uhnn, yeees, like that, he’s just going to try.”

Slade shucks off his pants and puts the younger ones legs over his shoulders, “Don’t worry sweetheart.” He reassures mockingly, “I’ll be gentle.”

Tim bares his teeth.

12\. Celeste

Hands overlaid over the finger shaped bruises on his hips Tim clicks his tongue, “Do you always leave marks like this or am I just special.”

Slade leers from the doorway, “You’re always special to me baby doll.”

Tim stops and looks over shoulder mouthing, “Baby doll?”

Slade nods, “Well aren’t you?” He slides up behind the slighter figure, turning them both back to the bathroom mirror. More then a head taller, Slade towered over the shorter one, his arms, his everything massive in comparison to just about everyone let alone Tim’s slender physique.

Leaning down to rub their cheeks together the mercenary purred, “You’re my baby doll, sweetheart.”

Tim flushes and elbows the man in the gut.

13\. Cerulean

Slade liked sugary sweet terms of endearment and he liked them best when paired with violence. He liked them bitter, and just this side of cruel.

He liked them with bites and bruises and darkness. He liked them with Tim because he was all of those things and more, and he didn’t need any help getting there.

14\. Cobalt

Tim hums a few chords to song that Slade remembers from the drunken haze that had gotten them into this mess.

“..That was the song that played at our wedding wasn’t it?” He asks although he already knows the answer, the memory of the smell of cheap flowers fresh in his mind.

Tim looks at him impish and amused, “It was more of an elopement.” He tells the larger man.

“Are you telling me you want to get re-married.” Slade asks dryly.

Tim looks at Slade seriously, “Our minister was Fat Elvis, my mother is rolling over in her grave. Get off your oversized ass and propose to me properly or so help me you will never see the light of day again.”

Slade blinks, stands up, and gets down on one knee, clearing his throat he asks, “Timothy Jackson Wilson, will you marry me…again.”

Tim screws up his face in distaste, “I’m changing my middle name, I don’t even sound like a person.”

Slade clears his throat.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, yes I will marry you again Slade Something Wilson.”

“I don’t have a middle name.”

Tim’s eyes go wide in mock surprise, “Really?”’ He gasps, “How fascinating, now get up and fuck me. Dick is going to be here soon and I want to make sure he gets the best possible view.”

Slade dusts off his knees, “You hate your family that much?”

Tim pouts, “All I want is for them to suffer. Just a little bit, just enough to make us even.”

15\. Columbia

Their second marriage is a thing of beauty. Tim crossdresses and Slade goes so far as to dye his hair blonde and shave.

As a bride and groom they make a striking pair in a perfect outdoor garden in Italy, no witnesses to ruin the arch of white roses they walked towards, hand in hand.

The minister is a small Italian man who smiles at them so sweetly it hurts.

Slade pretends not to notice that Tim is shaking as the minister pronounces Anthea and Michael Wilson to be husband and wife.

“It’s a wedding my mother would have been proud off.” Tim admits in the crook of the larger man’s shoulder as they go to bed, “And I wanted so much for her to love me.”

16\. Cornflower

Slade takes Tim’s hand and pulls him from the couch, “We’re leaving.” He tells the younger one.

“Why?” Tim asks, baffled.

“Your family has decided that they need you right this second.” He growls back.

Tim breathes deep and sees red. He told them. He fucking told them that he was to be left alone for the duration of his time off. He told them not to look for him because he needed some time to himself. Wrenching his hand away from Slade’s he yells, “Stop.”

Swallowing he continues, “I asked them not to, I told them it was important and now I’m going to beat them until I feel better.”

Slade waits.

Tim worries at his lip,“ Get on the plane. I’ll be there in four hours, that’s all I need. I just, I need them to understand that this is not okay.”

Slade reaches for Tim’s chin and tilts his face up, “Do you want me to stay with you?” He means it and Tim’s trying so hard not to cry, not to stomp his feet and pout like a child who’s birthday has just gone horribly wrong.

“Yes.” Tim admits as he falls into Slade’s large chest, as he smothers his hiccups somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. As he melts into the other.

Slade lifts Tim up, one hand on his back, the other under his knees. No one was allowed to ruin a honeymoon, least of all this honeymoon.

Thankfully they had avoided the wedding. He wouldn’t have to kill them. Looking down at Tim, whose grip on his shirt was deathly, he reconsidered.

17\. Cyan

Bruce’s face went slack as Tim stormed towards him, wearing only a large loose grey shirt and what appeared to be nothing else, a trail of love bites on his neck..he looked like he had been mauled, lips bruised, and was that even possible?

And, and…how? What?

Tim?

Snarling Tim grabbed at the larger man’s arm and pulled him inside a small but tasteful cottage, “One thing.” Tim tells him, “I ask for one thing, and you go and you ruin it for me?”

The younger one demands, “What is wrong with you?”

“What have you been doing?” Bruce inquires and Tim’s eyes go wild. Releasing the elder he goes still.

“Get out.” He tells him.

Bruce does not move.

“Leave.” Tim repeats.

Bruce does not move, just glares at the marks on Tim like he could make them speak if only he stared long enough.

“I believe my dear husband told you to leave.” A voice purred from behind him.

Bruce whips towards the familiar sound only to find Deathstroke, dressed down in a pair of sweatpants leaning against the wall, ready to end his life.

18\. Dark Blue

“You married Deathstroke!” Bruce hisses, voice slightly above its usual low tone. No where near high, but still abnormal. It was the equivalent of a shriek coming from anyone else.

Tim gazed at him blankly from his place on the mercenaries lap, “Yes.”

“Since when?” He demands.

“Two years.” Slade replies, nuzzling into Tim’s hair ever so slightly.

19\. Deep Sky

“Soooo..”’ Dick starts, “You got married.”

Tim looks at his brother then looks back at his computer.

Dick does an awkward shimmy behind him which Tim watches in the reflection of the computer screen. Dick, can not do casual. At all. Ever.

It was a wonder they let him out of the house some days really. The man was a walking confidentiality clause waiting to happen.

“Who’s the…lucky..person?” Dick tries.

“Man.” Tim offers, bored with this little routine.

“What?” Dick asks, bewildered.

Tim stands up and turns to face the nuisance, “Lucky man. Who, is the lucky man. I married Slade Wilson. Bruce thinks I’ve lost my mind which makes two Batmen who have tried to get me committed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lunch date with my husband.”

20\. Dodger

“We’re having dinner with the relatives.” Tim announces to Slade’s general un-amusment. “Why?” The larger one wonders.

Tim tilts his head, “Bruce wants to put me in Arkham.”

Slade pauses, “…I’ll kill him.”

“I really want to say yes but…no, and darling, it’s family dinner time.”

Slade perks up, “Oh?”

“Mmmhmm.” Tim coos, hands trailing up and down his husbands deliciously firm biceps, “That’s the kind of dinner where the married couple acts like they -” Tim nips at Slade’s shoulder,

“Just.” Another nip,“ Can’t.” A hand under his shirt, “Get.”

Slade pulls Tim into his lap, “Enough.”

Tim doesn’t manage to finish his sentence but it’s the spirit of the thing that matters.

21\. Duke

“I am legal citizen of this country.” Slade tells Bruce, “You have no grounds to arrest me, firstly because you’re a civilian in the eyes of the law and secondly because I haven’t done anything legally wrong.”

Bruce glares, “You married an underaged boy.”

“No, I married a man of legal age.” Slade counters. This is a horrible horrible lie, but only one of them knows that.

“Who you’ve been with since he was sixteen, that’s statutory rape.”

Slade smirks, “Our relationship was purely platonic at that point in time. We held hands and went to the park. Got to know each other and took long walks on the beach.”

Everyone knows this is a lie and Tim tries not to die holding back laughter. His outward appearance was perfectly composed, as he pouted at his chicken which was mocking him.

Slade looked over at Tim’s plate and bit back the urge to laugh, “Here, let me.” He tells him as he cuts up the meat.

Bruce tries to set him on fire with his eyes.


	2. Blue Set Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study in Slade and Tim based on the shades of blue as dictated by wikipedia continued.

22\. Egyptian

Slade’s smile was tight and dark in the cold of a Gotham night, “Hello Bruce.” He purred. The rodent behind him stepping out from his hiding place. Slade had smelled him coming three blocks away, something about eu de rich boy in a plastic suit had him ready to -

“Slade.” Batman growled, his voice that horrible scathing low that would have been so much more impressive if there was anything left in the mercenary to scare, if there was anything left to take.

The bruises, the red of Slade’s eyes were hidden by the dubious lighting but the half mad half beast look in them was enough of a warning. The smaller predators knew to stay away. Bruce did not flinch away, though under the circumstances he was one of the smaller predators, “What are you here for?” He asks, because his was not the hand and his was not the gun. He heard it was a gun. He does not know where his third son is buried.

He wants to know why this man of all men was in his city.

’‘He’s dead.” Slade answers, “Tim would have wanted you to know.”

Ra’s. The Demon’s Head has been cut off. Bruce nods, silent and weary and thankful. His could not have been the hand to deal the punishment for such a blow against -

He is thankful.

23\. Electric

Tim runs his fingers through white hair, straddling the elders lap, forcing Slade to move his newspaper out of the way lest it be crushed under the weight of barely legal teen.

“Must you do this so early in the morning.” The elder drawled out. He has learned that no amount of yelling or attacking or general bellowing at Tim would not make him move or stop or do more than dodge in annoyance.

“Must you be so cranky.” Tim snapped back, sharper than usual, amusing himself with the arrangement of Slade’s hair, as always dressed in only an oversized shirt that may have once belonged to the elder though he has not seen it in months. Tim is a greedy hoarder of clothing that belonged to other people and the more he liked someone the more he stole their clothes.

It was getting ridiculous. Soon Slade would have no more t-shirts, all of them sacrificed to Tim, who was hiding them somewhere Slade had yet to find.

Slade pinched the aforementioned thief in the side and Tim swatted at his hand, “Dick is an ass.” the bird tells him. He has the feeling that his hair is being split into pigtails. Dear god. Wintergreen was rolling over in his grave.

“What did Dick do?”

Tim’s eyes flash, “It’s not what he’s done, its what he’s going to do.”

Slade, as a relatively sane, relatively human, being, does not want to know. He also does not want to consider what it means that he is sleeping with someone who gets pre-emptively angry at another person for something they had yet to do.

24\. Eton

“Drake must you be so disgusting.” Damian sneered, “It is degrading to see you trounce around with that man, although I must say such behaviour was expected from you.”

“Hmph.” Damian looks Tim over, clearly unimpressed, “Father wishes you home for some god awful reason”, he finishes.

Tim lazily licks his rocket pop, his aviators blocking the younger from seeing his eyes. He’s sitting, he’s sprawled on a park bench in a white cotton t-shirt and a pair of tight blue jeans. He looks like an all american boy, apple pie and democracy, ice cream in hand.

’'Mnn.” He sounds out, all summer time haziness. It’s the middle of the day and both of them are civilians as far as anyone else was concerned.

Slade comes back from the ice cream parlour, his own treat in hand, as well as a another for Tim, soft serve on a cone.

Tim has already found ice cream through other means, his lover taking too long in the shop, “I see you’ve found a bird.” He drawls. Damian jumps slightly at the new presence. Tim smirks and stands, pouring himself from his seat, “A bird found me.” Tim corrects, throwing his pop in the garbage for the ice cream in Slade’s hand, taking the cone and taking a lick.

Damian scowls.

Slade grins and slings his arm around Tim’s back, squeezing the younger ones hip, and rear.

25\. Federal

Tim tilted the black miltaryesque cap and preened in front of the window. Black military jacket, full-sleeved with a high collar, almost looked proper until it met the black leather shorts it overlaid.Tim’s legs, milky white and miles long, meet thigh high leather boots, laced up and buckled, platform high, the heels four inches and thick without being clunky. A whip was strapped to his hip and a gun to the opposite thigh, the holster a matching black leather.

God damn he was gorgeous. Applying clear gloss to his lips he blew a kiss at the mirror, his hair dangerously messy, his eyes smouldering.

Sashaying his way to the door that separated the bedroom from everywhere else he poured himself through the hall, liquid smoke and liquid metal, his edges blurred, the white of the hallway turning into a dungeon, a den of curious things where beautiful creatures lurked, his black nails scratched at the walls, his heels forcing him taller, stretching him out like taffy.

Walking past Slade he can feel the eyes on him as he reaches the door. Bad things never looked quite as good as him.

He’s not surprised Slade follows.

26\. Glaucous

“Boom.” Slade whispers into Tim’s ear.

Three buildings blow up in Gotham. The floors collapse in slow motion, and one building tips ever so slightly. It compresses, debris falling outward. He could see the fire from where he stood. It was a demolition, the charges rigged to collapse the floors.

Boom. The candles on the birthday cake go out all at once with one great breath of air. Slade’s got his hands on Tim’s hips and he’s moving side to side slowly.

“Hap-py bir-th-day, tooo yoou, hap-py bir-th-day too yoou.” Slade coos. Tim can see the firetrucks and police cars coming in from all sides, a hoard of people standing and watching and some are running away.

Slade chuckles, “I pulled the fire drill sweetheart, so stop making that face.”

Tim watches his birthday cake burn, and burn, and burn. It lights up Gotham like a beacon, “It’s beautiful.” He admits, because it is, the way beautiful things can be.

Count to three and make a wish. Blow. Tim can’t blow this fire out. Boom. He doesn’t want to, so he sways in time and listens to the sound of his birthday anthem in sirens and the crash of a building.

It’s the first time he’s ever had a party.

27\. Electric Indigo

Slade blows a kiss and Tim snaps his teeth to catch it.

This is how it plays out. Two men walk down an alley holding hands. One of them has blood on his and the other leaves footprints like paint, because he’s been walking over bodies and it’s hard to keep hands clean when they walk on the ground. Hands have sinks and bathrooms but shoes have garbage cans raided by the homeless and search dogs. They have incinerators and backyard fires or dirty rivers.

One of them carries the other with those bloody hands.

There are no more footprints on the ground. Slade won’t let Tim take the fall for his actions when all the younger one has done is walk beside him.

There is a special kind of hell for those who watch and do nothing and it looks something like Bruce’s face angry and demanding looking at Tim, or Dick’s worried eyebrows and Damian’s mouth throwing slurs. Jason’s sickening grin as he tells the younger, “You’ll be thrown away one day, just like me.”

But they don’t see those hands, those large hands that carry him over the garbage, the snow and the cement, that carry him over a sadness so great it would choke him with its hands if it could. If he let it.

They don’t see him holding on by a thread, clinging to his life, to his mind. They don’t see the hands that carry, the heart that beats or the feet that would walk across oceans for him. The body that wraps around him, and brings him warmth.

“Are you cold.” Slade asks and Tim shakes his head and snuggles deeper into that broad chest.

28\. International Klein

“I have.” Tim begins, his voice thick, his hands wrapped around a mug. He’s standing straight and looking out a window, “I haven’t been okay in a very long time.” He admits.

The first step is admitting he has a problem and he’s known it but speaking it aloud makes it real. It pushes it out to the world and makes it exist.

Slade says nothing but he pulls the younger, the smaller, against him and holds as tight as he can. To make it real. To make it okay, to pull Tim back together and hold him in, and the shuddering comes as do the sobs, the broken cries, silenced and painful. Tim’s face flushed, splotchy and heated and mucus dripped and nothing else sounded but the clock on the wall and that too was forgotten.

And Tim fell. He folded into that hold and let it keep him upright.

The first step is -

“You’ll live.” Slade tells him. Not it’s going to be okay, or it’s just a phase but you’ll live, because it was true. Because it was an order, a hope, a plea.

29\. Iris

Slade often wonders if Bruce had any idea what his third child was like because the Tim, Bruce spoke of was not one the mercenary had ever met. Bruce’s innocent, shy, slightly awkward teen who was good at what he did and very smart did not exist to him.

He knew the viciously brilliant and ruthless creature with shifting moods and faces, and a grave sadness.

He knew the chameleon, the butterfly, flighty, and ethereal, and graceful in his movement. Not composed of economy but of fluidity, of ceremony. Nothing like the bats.

Slade once saw a picture of Tim’s mother and he’s almost sure that Tim took his grace from her and no one else. For all that the Bats were not an army they moved like soldiers and Tim, smaller and smarter, moved like a dancer.

He knew the shameless wild creature who ate his food and sniffed disdainfully at his choice of breakfast cereal. He does not know Bruce’s good child. The one who took shit from everyone else. No, he has not seen that child.

He has seen someone older than their years breaking under pressure. Even metal yields if the fire is hot enough to melt.

30\. Light Blue

Jason does not know this Tim, “What do you want Jason.” The replacement purred from his perch on the rooftop.

“Hey pretty bird.” He leered, because it would not do to show fear. He does not know this Tim and he does not know what this version would be willing to do. He does not want to risk his life for a curiosity, or maybe he does. His common sense has never been that good.

“Did daddy kick you out for playing with a bad boy.” He mocks. He wishes his blood didn’t chill at the mention of Slade’s name. Crazy as fuck, that bastard was and Tim slept in his bed like he wouldn’t turn around and kill him in his sleep if he so felt the urge. Russian roulette was not the basis for a relationship, Jason thought.

Tim looked over his shoulder, his eyes glowing like a cats, “Bruce did not ’'kick me out” and I’m still a hero so if you would be so kind as to fuck off that would be great.“

Jason snorted, ’'A hero who sleeps with a mercenary?” God that was hilarious.

Tim eyes sharpen into slits, “Jaybird…are you jealous?” He hisses. Jason does not know this Tim and it’s not that he feels no fear, it’s that he knows better that to show it, but Tim, even with a knife to his throat would not stutter. Jason knows, knows that the pretender didn’t have fears, at least not like a normal person.

Not even like Bruce who feared getting close to others and loosing them.

Tim was a different breed, a plant grown to cannibalize other plants and small animals. Nothing behind those eyes. A blank wall.

“Babybird if you want a piece of this all you have to do is ask.” He hisses back. They can smell fear. Tim is not the exception, he rises to his feet, smoke edges and all. Bright eyes and all.

“Run.” He tells Jason, just as the gun goes off and Tim tips backwards off the building.

31\. Majorelle

“I could kill you.” Slade tells Tim as they lay in bed and Tim laughs, “No you won’t.” He replies.

The mercenary turns on top of the younger one, his hands pining down the slender frame, his eyes serious.

Tim is patient.

“I could kill you.” Slade tells him and Tim smiles, “You won’t.” Because he’s right and both of them know it.

“I should kill you.” Slade growls and Tim’s smile widens, “Go ahead.” This is hysterical because the elder hasn’t realized yet what has come so easily to Tim. What he has instinctively leaned towards. It was what he had been deprived of for far too long. Love.

They are in love.

Slade’s hands tighten and Tim does not fight back though he knows he’ll bruise.

“I’m going to kill you.” Slade tells him, pulling his wrists up before slamming down again. “Try.” Tim tells him and the elder’s hand goes to his throat, the other holding both of his wrists. Tim closes his eyes and waits because he’s right and either way, he is loved.

The pressure is subtle and slow and Tim can no longer breathe but he can hold his breath for over three minutes. He does not struggle, though he sees black spots in his vision, his eyes looking right at Slade. His chest burns with need and his body wants to jerk, to struggle. He does not let it. He will not be able to help the convulsions at some point but that point is not yet.

Slade looks down at him and they are at a standstill. A Mexican showdown and only one of them has a gun. Sade’s face is blank, his mouth a straight line, his eyebrows furrowed.

They wait. Tim’s vision is slowly blackening, the edges going fuzzy. His chest is straining, his heartbeat erratic.

Slade pulls away from him, his hands shaking, his eyes wide and Tim gasps for breath. The mercenary is looking at his hands and Tim waits for the tremors to leave and the fear to subside. He waits for the elder to collect himself.

“I love you.” Slade spits out like a curse and Tim presses his fingertips to the tender hollows of his throat, “I love you too.” He offers in return and as Slade moves back to face him incredulous Tim shrugs his shoulders.

“I do.” He repeats.

32\. Maya

They’re dancing in the streets, bundled up in their long winter coats, Slade twirling Tim around.

The bruises on Tim’s throat have faded.

Slade grins down and lifts the younger over puddles of slush with ease. Tim is careless in love, and Slade is dangerous. Theirs is a terrible kind of affection, their love is the kind that burns cities to the ground. They love in absolutes, in equal measure and all and everything with nothing left over for anyone else.

Theirs is a terrible, greedy, self-centred love that would choke and bury anyone who tried to pull it apart if it made the other smile. It is no holds bared, no secrets, all of them dug up and aired and poured over. Theirs is a study in gasps, in twitches, in moans in the night. Theirs is warm and hot and cold and every temperature on a thermostat.

It is nights spent in the same bed and days spent waking up together and walks in the night time when the nights were slow. It is meals shared and discarded and the bandaged cuts and the way they laid on the couch one melting into the other.

It was a terrible, terrible love. It was not the first, for the firsts had failed them, abandoned them in divorce and other various means. Disapproval.

Theirs is the last, it is the one that came after, the broken pieces fitting together and they would survive, they would move if the other fell but they would bring such -

They would survive. They would. They would. They always would. They had to.

33\. Midnight

Jason’s eyes looked at the spot beside Tim’s right shoulder as he told him, “I think we should break up.” It sounded like cardboard from the larger one’s mouth and Tim needed to stop what was coming next because he could not handle an apology.

“Okay.” He throws like a lifeline because he can see how tight the elder one’s shoulders are, how hunched together, and he loves him enough to make this easy. He saw it coming, and he was too much of a coward to end it himself so he’ll do this instead.

“It’s okay.” Tim shrugs and leaves. The air falling from Jason’s chest and Tim knows that the elder felt like shit, lower than that, because they both knew the tally of things Jason had done to Tim had gained another score and Jason’s fists are tight.

Jason ran out the hallway and shouted, “Is that it?” and Tim turned and asked, “What?”

“Are…did you ever really love me?” Jason asks, all insecurity and need and Tim can not fill that need no matter how much he tries because his love is not Jason’s and Jason does not know how to recognize his love even though it’s over and the elder has drifted away.

“Yes.” Tim admits.

Jason nods, “Okay…. sorry.” He adds but sorry did not make him him stop and Tim leaves.

…

He slides into Slade’s lap angry and upset, he pulls on white hair and presses kisses to a bared throat. He wants to forget and this, is as good as anything.

“My, my, little bird.” Slade purrs and Tim smiles bittersweet and vulnerable. There’s blood in this water and the sharks are coming.

34\. Navy

Slade trails his fingers down Tim’s side, “Have you forgotten yet?” He asks as he fucks him like Jason never did, hard and aching, his breath coming in heavy pants.

….

He kisses the mercenary’s lips and his state remains heart weary but his body is sated and though Jason does not know, he feels a cruel sort of pleasure at his actions. He does not thank the man he knows to be awake with his eyes closed. It would serve no purpose.

“He was stupid, that boy of yours… to leave you.” Slade tells him as Tim pulls his briefs on, over dried cum and sweat.

Tim does not do much of anything but continue to place his clothes back onto his body, “I happen to love that boy.” He admits like it’s easy.

Slade grins, “Enough to stay away from other men?” and Tim turns to pinch the mercenary’s cheek

’'Enough to need something after a break up.”

“And was I that something?”

“You were something.” Tim gives away dry and tired.

Slade’s eyes soften, “Go home little bird.”

35\. Non-photo Blue

Tim does not stay away. He does not bother to. Slade was enough to make him feel good, to demand nothing but his body, his pleasure, their selves moving together on just about any surface.

“What do you want, little bird?” Slade asks.

“I want those I love to love me back.” Tim tells him in confidence. There was a strange code of honour carried by the men who walked the line between grey and black that would keep the mercenary quiet. Tim would have gone to Ra’s if he trusted the man to let him go after the fact.

Slade chuckles, “How ambitious.” Tim’s smiles have not lost their sadness and though he is tired and weary he is beautiful.

Tim rests his head on the larger ones shoulder and hums in agreement, allowing his mind to sweep away under the influx of pleasure and carnal need.

There was no room for others in this bed. Jason’s presence an unspoken ghost.

36\. Oxford

Jason sees them by accident or on purpose he does not know, but the sight makes something tighten in his chest, Starfire warming his bed in a safe-house on the island he ran away to a non-entity.

He has never, through all his time with Tim, seen him so happy, a glow shining from the inside out, a small smile on his face.

He knows that Slade knows he’s there and the man kisses the younger like it’s easy, and it was a peck but Jason’s blood boiled because never had he had it so easy. Never had he felt okay with leaning down and stealing a kiss just like that, against the wall of Tim’s perfect face, and his perfect coldness and his silence.

He had loved him, he had loved the younger so much it hurt but faced with the frigidness of their love he had grown cold, and tired, and disillusioned. Tim had been a sculpture made of carved marble, pretty and sparkling with no substance.

Nothing for Jason to hold onto. It had never been as easy as the way Deathstroke held Tim’s hand as they walked through the streets and he used to feel like Tim was a mile away when they had once done the same.

He wants to know why, he wants to know why Tim lied when he said he loved him because the words meant nothing when Jason couldn’t feel them, when Tim was all gasps and quiet awkward groans in bed and uncomfortable sounds.

He just wants to know.

37\. Palantine

“Ah.” Jason shuffles awkwardly as he sees Tim in the cafe, “I, heard you’ve got a new man.” He wants to hit himself because it’s not his business but he wants to know so badly and his mouth runs off without him, and isn’t he owed at least an explanation?

He wants to know what he did so wrong that a mercenary could do better than him, an assassin.

Tim tilts his head and Jason feels like he’s under a microscope.

“I know.” He tells Jason, “I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t even know you were in the city when you saw us.”

Jason nods and gestures with his hands in hopes of getting more from Tim. Tim, however sips on his orange juice.

“What did I do wrong?” He blurts out and then finishes, “What, when we were together did I, uh, do that made you all..cold?”

“You left me.” Tim tells him, “During our relationship, you did nothing wrong.”

Jason is not satisfied, he wants to understand, “Then how come you’re so happy with him when you weren’t with me,” He laughs bitterly, “I mean, you were glowing, you still are, kind of, and I’m with you here and we’re not together but you’re the same as when we were.”

Tim does not scream at Jason about how he never noticed, about how he could have cared less that Tim bought him new shampoo when his ran out and snuck extra socks into his sock drawer because Jason lost his socks like people discarded tissues and how he always took his calls whenever he could and came over all the time and how it still wasn’t enough to make Jason stay.

“I was happy when I was with you.” He tells Jason because even when it wasn’t easy they had been trying and Tim was content to keep trying as long as he could stay by Jason’s side but Jason left and Tim was left trying alone and then Jason broke up with him and Tim left as well.

“I didn’t see it.” Jason tells him and Tim shrugs, “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

Jason nods and takes the information from Tim. Starfire’s waiting for him.

38\. Periwinkle

The end of the cigarette burned orange in the dark of the bar as Jason took another drag. Slade pulled up beside him and ordered a drink for himself.

“Why are you here.” Jason asks him and Slade was larger than even him which was not something Jason was used to. Bitterly he wonders if the reason Tim liked Slade better was the size of his dick.

“You wanted to know what you did wrong.” Slade told him and Jason shot him a nasty glare, “How is that any of your business?”

’'Tim,” Slade started, “Is very different. He’s subtle and he loved you once, very much. You were just too stupid to see it brat.”

Jason bristled and made to stand.

Slade waved him down, “Sit down, and stop making that face it’s the truth. Tim does things and doesn’t tell you about them to show that he cares. He buys more tooth paste or he puts another pair of shoes in the closet when yours are staring to wear. He’s not good with the words when he’s not being someone else. Your problem was that you were too stuck thinking about him that you didn’t actually notice him.”

“The fuck are you talking about.” Jason growls as he leaves.

Slade downs his drink, “Kids.” He grunts out as he puts the cash down and locates the backdoor of the establishment through which he exits. He’s got Tim waiting in the penthouse of a hotel.

39\. Persian

“Good evening Mrs.Wilson.” Slade croons, a bouquet of daisies in hand.

Tim nods primly and accepts the gift, his nose sniffing the white blooms, “Good evening Mr.Wilson.” Tim replies.

“How are you this fine night?” Slade continues and Tim wacks him with the flowers, “One day.” Tim tells him, “I’m going to clone a baby made from us just to see your face.”

Slade’s eyes widen. He understands that if the other wished to do so he would have already collected all the material necessary.

“You don’t want children.”

“I really don’t.” Tim admits plucking at his daisies.

40\. Pthalo

“I’m going to cheat on you with Jason if I don’t get some soon enough.” Tim announces one fine morning. Slade swallows his coffee instead of spitting it out and ruining his eggs.

“Do you have no shame.” Slade asks him with a tut.

Tim looks at him, “Neither do you, which is why I’m telling you to get in my body before I leave you.”

“That was incredibly disgusting, never describe our sweet love making in such a manner again.”

Challenge accepted. Tim smirks, “Get in my love hole, bump your ugly against mine, make the beast with two backs, touch my tralalala, give me your man juice.” All of this is delivered in perfect monotone.

Slade chokes on his eggs, “Okay, we’ll have sex, as long as you stop.”

“Fine smoochie kins. I love you too.” Tim steals his fork and finishes off the last bite of the eggs.

“Snuggle bunny, you know I don’t like that name in the morning.” Slade shoots back.

“Take me to bed you manly man you.” Tim replies.

…

“I feel like we have too much sex.” Slade lies and Tim snorts, “No you don’t.”

“No.” Slade admits, “I really don’t.”

41\. Prussian

Bruce stares at them in horror as Slade grins at his, “snuggle bunny.”

Tim, malicious bastard that he was, had no problem in calling the mercenary “smoochie kins”. There was something wrong with his third child Bruce thought, something that made him willing to to consort with bad men and call them pet names that were frankly terrifying.

…

In the privacy of their own lives, Slade did in fact, have a name for Tim, a name he used in their home when they dressed down, still armed, always armed, but casual.

“Hello rabbit.” Slade would croon, skipping over the bird names, any references to Robin ignored, replaced by name he chose.

Tim would smile and wrap his arms around the larger ones, pressing their lips together. The wet slickness of a tongue sweeping over the seam of his mouth before he allowed it to enter, to taste.

42\. Royal

The ambassadors of Gotham, dressed in black suits, stood to greet the reigning monarch of Wilson, a country known for its military prowess and natural resources which it guarded like a jealous lover refusing to sign trade agreements with outsiders.

Gotham had come, on the surface to negotiate for fresh water, which they did need, but they had also come to discretely observe the power on the throne.

His Imperial Majesty, Slade of Wilson and the Prince Consort, known affectionately by the public as the Queen in a tongue and cheek manner that did not fail to relay the approval the country had for both of its monarchs.

Wilson, unlike other countries had retained an older model of government. It was a monarchy in every sense so the King’s word was law, by law.

Mr. Fox had come to meet the King and report back to the Wayne family on the monarch’s state.

“Thank you.” Fox told the attendant who took his bag, which had previously been searched, as was he, “Is the security always so…thorough?”

The attendant answered, “Yes” and the ambassador was not sure what to make of a ruler who required such actions to be taken on his behalf. Paranoid was perhaps too harsh a word, but from the speeches he had watched prior to his coming, he had observed King Wilson to be the consummate military man, and a good leader, if a bit severe. Paranoid seemed appropriate.

“Good evening Mr.Fox.” A voice called out, the lilt of the words the only sign of an accent. It had been after all, the Prince he had worried over.

“I do hope you have not been waiting for long.” A second voice, deeper than the first followed. An eye like grey mud looked him over. No one knew how the King had lost his eye. It was something of a myth with each story becoming more exaggerated than the next.

“Good evening your Highness.” He addresses the Prince first, as is polite by Wilson custom, “Your Majesty. I have not been waiting long.”

He feels as though he’s stepped into some kind of trap. He wonders if this is what everyone feels when the meet the pair.

43\. Sapphire

He’s running, fast as he can, like a man made of gingerbread and he may as well be if he doesn’t get there in time.

It’s like a scene from a -

A figure dressed in jeans and a t-shirt runs -

No.

It’s Vietnam, at war, it’s nineteen-

No.

“Move.” Tim roars to a man lying down lying down in the tall grass with a gun, with his helmet, his hair was hidden but Tim knew it to be white and he needs to get there in -

No.

It’s Gotham, it’s a war.

Slade vaults rooftops just in time to catch a child, seven years old and falling off a building, he’s in time to stop him from hitting the ground, “I owe you kid.” He tells him before he leaves and Tim is-

No.

44\. Skyscraper

Bruce looks over at the files. Deathstoke the terminator. The worlds greatest assassin. He doesn’t even have proof the man exists.

Robin snorts over his shoulder, tall for his age, a cowl covering tell tale white hair, “You look like shit.” The apprentice tells the mentor.

“Slade.” Bruce warns.

The teen shrugs his shoulders, “You aren’t going to find him like this, if he exists at all.”

“I saw him.” Bruce counters. The boogeyman of the underworld.

“You see Saint Nick himself every Christmas.” Slade retorts, “What are the chances of the guy you saw being our guy.”

“Ra’s. He was with the Demon’s Head, I didn’t know it, I thought he was a kid.” Bruce muttered. “He didn’t look like a threat.”

“The great Deathstoke does not look like a threat?” Robin mocked.

Bruce pulled up the facial reconstruction he had created, “Deathstoke is half your size.”

45\. Steal

Deathstoke grinned as Batman interrupted his hit. You don’t play in Gotham without Batsy’s say so. That’s what they told him anyway.

“Batman.” Robin called out, “The target is dead.”

“What.” Bruce growled, deflecting the strike of a sword. Slade grins. “How.” Bruce orders.

“Contrary to popular belief I do not work alone.” Deathstroke drawled.

Two buildings away a sniper aimed his rifle at a few nocturnal critters, “Say the word.” Tim spoke.

46\. Teal

“Mr. Drake.” Professor Slade spoke, “I need to see you after class. A few boys oooed in mockery at thought of the perfect Timothy Drake getting into trouble.

Tim, however replied, ’'Okay.” And turned back to his bag and the packing thereof.

..

“What did you -”

Slade crushed his mouth onto the teens, the door locked, the students all gone, “Do you have any idea.” the elder growled, “How long I’ve been waiting to do that?”

Tim’s eyes were wide and his fingers shook, “Pr-Proffesor?” He asked.

Slade raised an eyebrow.

Tim shrugged, “Worth a try.” He muttered before reaching up to grab the older man’s tie and pull him down for another kiss.

47\. Tiffany

“Mr.Drake.” Slade leered, “I’m having some trouble with a problem, can you help me after class. I have a spare.”

Tim had made the students aware that the second lunch was his preparation time and allowed them an open invitation into the classroom. He was beginning to regret it.

“That’s fine.” He answered as he put away a few of his papers.

48\. Tufts

“Nurse.” The doctor sneered and Tim bristled, “Doctor Wilson, for the last time I’m not a nurse.”

Slade reached forward to pinch the smaller surgeons rear and Tim turned, scalpel in hand, “Try that and I will cut it off.”

Slade backed away slightly, hands up, “There was a bug.” He defended, gaze innocent.

“Why am I dating you?” Tim breathed out exasperated.

Slade grinned, “I am a man of many talents Nurse Drake.”

49\. Ultramarine

Tim’s tail knocked against the hull of a small boat, a dingy perhaps, not that it made much difference to the merman. The boat in turn, rocked side to side slightly.

Peeking above he saw a man working to steady the vessel. It was rather strange to see such a small ship in the middle of the ocean. Humans were, as a whole strange, but usually when they were this far from land they went in larger homes.

“You’re in the middle of the ocean.” He tells the sailor. In case he didn’t know. He had heard that humans often got lost, which was a ridiculous notion. Mer-people always knew where they were, and where they were going.

The man turned to look at him, “Are you planning on trying to kill me.” He asks Tim distinctly unafraid. Most of the two-leggers he had seen had ran away from him as fast as they were able.

“No.” Tim answers.

“You are a mermaid though?” The man asked him, his white hair glowing in the sun. It reminded Tim of a sea witch he had once known.

“Close enough.” Tim allowed.

The man once again nodded, “Do you know where I am?”

So he was lost, “You’re in the middle of the Pacific. The closest land is in that direction.” Tim points to the right, “It’s a three week swim for me and a three month voyage for you.”

The man startled.

50\. Violet-Blue

Tim plopped another fish into the ship, for the sailor. It had been interesting enough to see the man to land. The whims of the gilled and scaled.

“Thank you.” Slade, as he had come to know the man told him. Thank you, he had learned was a human expression of gratefulness.

“Eat.” Tim told him.

51\. Yale

“How do you do it?” Slade asks him, “Turn salt water fresh.”

Tim spits fresh water into the canteen, the salt it had previously contained absorbing into his body, “I’m adaptable.” Tim tells him. It’s far easier than an explanation of the various species of mer-people and the peculiar habits of sea witches, who were as a whole adaptable, more so than any other species in any other sea.

“Thank you.” Slade tells him again, and, “Why are you doing this?”

Tim shrugs and sinks back under with a, ’'You humans are so concerned with why. Why not?”’

52\. Zaffre

’'How do you speak English?” The sailor asks the merman.

“How do you?” Tim retorts, floating on his back, his tail undulating lazily as he swam beside the dingy.

’'I learned as a child.” Slade offers, privately amused at the quirks that composed his strange companion. Rather, the only creature keeping him alive. He was unsure if his companion was a blessing or a curse yet to act.

“I picked it up, nonsense language that it is.” Tim offers back.


	3. The State of Our Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim got drunk married to Slade under a different name one night in Vegas after some truly filthy debauching. Neither of them talk about it, they like to pretend it never happened …although they did keep the marriage license.
> 
> Also: Originally, when this was in separate parts, a section was dedicated to heartslogos who asked for this to continue.

“You just don’t talk to me anymore Slade, I feel so unappreciated.”

The elder presses a bouquet of roses to the slighter ones chest, “For our three month anniversary.” He explains.

Tim takes the flowers with care, “Much better.” He offers.“

Slade raises an eyebrow.

’‘What?” Tim questions, then rolls his eyes, “Oh all right.” He passes the larger one a box of chocolates.

“Romance is dead.” Slade mocks.

“I will shoot you in the face.” Tim explains as he checks the roses for any other equipment.

“Domestic abuse.” the mercenary expands.

Tim’s eyes go wide and watery as he chokes back a sob, “Oh officer, it was just, I didn’t mean to but I was so scared and he was so angry and drunk and usually he sleeps it of b-but he was just, and I didn’t know what else to do, and he wouldn’t stop hitting me -”

“How are you a hero?” Slade asks, faintly awed by the performance.

Tim laughs, low and sinister.

…

They wake up side by side in a round bed covered in heart shaped pillows naked as the day they were born.

“How old are you?” Slade squints.

Tim grins, teeth sharp, “My ID says 22.”

Slade raises an eyebrow.

Tim deadpans, “Congratulations Mr. Wilson you have just married your child bride. I’m seventeen. Does that make you a pedophile or just a very creepy man?”

“It depends on the state.” Slade counters, “Are you in shock?” He wonders as the slender figure beside him refuses to react in any manner that would indicate trauma.

Tim snorts and straddles the larger man, “Now dear, it’s our honeymoon. Try not to spoil it with morals.”

Slade chuckles, “Aren’t you a hero?”

Tim grins, “Yes. Yes I am.”

…

“I’m pregnant.” Tim greets as he flops down beside the older mercenary, “I mean, I know I’m young but we’re married so why not start a family?”

Slade nods, “I should introduce you to my daughter from my previous marriage, she should probably know about her upcoming sibling.”

Tim laughs, “I met your daughter. She tried to seduce me with her naked body.”

Slade raised an eyebrow, “Is there something you want to tell me Misses Wilson.”

Tim smiles sweetly, “If you don’t start paying more attention to me, I’ll leave you for your daughter Mr. Wilson.”

“How very..Freudian..of you.”

Tim shook his head, “If this was Freud I’d be leaving Rose for her mother, or my mother.”

“I regret to inform you that I am Rose’s mother.”

Tim snorted, “Your a very handsome woman.”

“Thank you.”

…

“You’re looking beautiful tonight Tim.” Slade comments.

Tim tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and blushes,“ You shouldn’t say things like that. You’ll upset my husband.”

Slade raises an eyebrow and strokes Tim’s cheek with his hand, “Is he a jealous man then?”

Tim leans into the touch, “Very.” He admits.

Slade kisses the younger ones lips and pulls back, “Good.”

“Hello Mr. Wilson.” Tim murmurs.

“Hello Misses Wilson.” Slade murmurers back.

…

“I take issue with the state of our marriage.” Tim announces as he flops into Slade’s lap.

“Really now.” The mercenary drawls.

“Mmmhmm, I think we need to have more sex.”

“I thought we established that it was illegal.”

Tim shrugs, “Only in certain states, also you’re the one with a child bride.”

“You have so many issues don’t you?”

“I married you didn’t I?”

Slade leers, “That you did.”

...

It was Monday morning in New York, the streets bustling with tired, caffeine deprived masses. Often Tim pondered the stupidity of villains. If the coffee supply was drugged any enterprising new evil could have a zombie horde amassed and no one would notice until noon.

Sipping his hot chocolate Tim sighed.

Slade came to sit across him, his large form dwarfing the mortals below or some such bullshit. The man was built like a brick shit house, a physique Tim would never match, nor did he aspire to match in all honesty. Being big made infiltration more difficult than necessary.

“What brings you to New York?” Slade drawled, as a waiter came up and took his order. The elder paid for another drink to be brought to the younger, something sweet and frothy from the sound of it.

“Visiting my husband.” Tim replied.

“And how did you know your husband would be in New York.” Slade inquired.

“Playground.” Tim answered with utter seriousness, “As in, the world is my. I know everything about everyone that ever was. It’s a gift.”

“I have no words.” Slade deadpans.

“Lies. You had words right now, I heard them.” Tim teased.

“Those my dear bride, were not words, they were the sound of your mental instability echoing back at you.”

Tim leaned back in his seat and looked over, the older man. He was in good condition, moving without issue and no visible wounds. He never liked it when the elder was injured, healing abilities or no.

“If I were to ask my husband to go dancing would he take me?” Tim mused, “Even with my mental instability.”

Slade reached over to take Tim’s hand, kissing the back of it, “Where and when dear one, that’s all I need to know.”

…

Rushing into a safe house that Slade hadn’t known Tim had been aware of, the hero, costume and all slipped right through the front door, which had nothing to do with the way the elder had disabled all the security protocols of course.

Ripping off his mask Tim plopped right into the mercenaries lap his breathing harsh, his face pale with anger, his lips pressed tightly together, nostrils flaring as he took in air. Pushing the dark haired boy’s head into the crook of his neck Slade tightened his grip in what he hoped would be taken as a comforting manner.

“He not dead.” Tim murmured.

“Bruce?” Slade clarified.

Tim nodded.

“Am I crazy?” Tim asked.

“Only in the best of ways.” Slade answered. Heroes died and came back to life all the time. It was nothing new in their business, if Tim thought Bruce was alive then yes, the bastard was still alive.

“What are you going to do about it?” The larger one wondered and Tim replied, still tucked as close to the elder as possible, “I’m going to find proof, and shove down the League’s throat until they do something about it and then I’m going to knee Dick in the groin.”

“Would you like me to shoot him?” Slade inquired. He felt it was appropriate.

“Only a little bit.” Tim allowed, his insides stinging from his time in the manor, from trying to prove that he hadn’t lost his mind to a man who thought he new better than him.

“Have you come for help?”

“No.” Tim denied, “I’ve come for comfort.”

…

“Ahh…Robin.” Slade purred as he saw the eldest of the birds once more, the first, his face twisting into a bloodthirsty snarl. With great ease he kneed the hero in the groin and shot in the arm in an area that was non fatal.

“There, now that we’ve gotten over our greeting, how are you?”

Dick grunted as he pulled himself away from the larger man, “Whatever you’re here for it’s not going to work.”

Slade blinked, “I’ve already finished what I’ve come here for, no use troubling yourself over it now.” A little misdirection never hurt anyone.

“I will stop you, Slade.”

Deathstroke put his gun back in its holster, “Hmmm…too late Richard.” He mocked and laughed darkly at the thought of the eldest of the birds running around his city trying to stop a plan that didn’t exist, a plan that had been carried out the moment he shot the younger in the arm.

…

“I regret to inform you that you no longer need to knee your brother in the groin.” Slade announced.

Tim laughed. “I heard about that.”

Slade’s face morphed into a curious expression, his eyes slightly wider, his face leaning forward. Tim could practically hear the silent “And?”

“I thought it was wonderful Mr. Wilson. Thank you.”

“He insulted my dear wife, it was the least I could do.”

…

Bruce looked sideways at Slade and how they ended up in this situation the Bat did not know.

“I am sorry High Priestess X'hhhh'ghtschi, I can not preform your fertility ritual, you see I am a married man. I am…bonded, would be your terms.”

The high priestess, the empathic high priestess who could sense a lie nodded sympathetically and patted his shoulder.

“I apologize..may I know of your beloved warrior?” She asked.

Slade’s eyes sparked with glee, “My wife is very beautiful, pale skinned and blue eyed with back hair, intelligent too, very much so and very strong. I am lucky to be married to such a person. Bruce however has no bonded, he is most capable of preforming your ritual.”

The Bat’s eyes glared at the slightly taller man. Slade grinned.

The priestess cooed, “How did your union come about?” She inquired, as two robed acolytes escorted Bruce elsewhere.

“It was at night and both of us were not searching for a bonded but we found each other none the less and the attraction between us was too great. It was a most joyous union.”

The priestess sighed, “You loved your wife from first sight?”

“As much as I could without having a conversation. ”

Tim tucked his toes under the meat of Slade’s thigh, as he flopped down onto the sofa. It was a murky green construct older than Tim’s own existence, dried stains of questionable origin splashing across its surface. It was, however the most comfortable seat in the house, less of a piece of furniture and more of a large squishy family member. Its cushioning had moulded into the shape of Slade’s posterior long ago, its springs bent under his mass.

By all rights its should have been thrown in the garbage and discarded but it, like Tim had curled around Slade. It like Tim had bent without breaking to create a divot into which the elder mercenary could sink.

It like Tim had was stained, but surviving and Slade had always had trouble throwing away the things that still…fit. The things that were functional, practical extensions of himself because where others saw progress and technology, he had known quality.

That which was broken and obsolete, differed greatly from that which was old. Willow bark had been used to relieve pain far before Aspirin and Tim had been Robin long before Bruce. Young as he was, in the rotating world of vigilantism, 18 was equal to 180 and over 6 years spent in mask and cape equal to 60 years of warfare.

Tim was not a broken thing in his bending, simply one which had bent to a world which demanded his breaking.

He was and always would be functional. Slade briefly wondered if the Bats had seen him as such. Considering Tim was hiding in his Washington safe house instead of living in the Gotham he thought otherwise.

“Darling,” Slade drawled “You know I love you, but You’ve really got to stop dropping by like this. It compromises the security system sweetheart.”

Considering Tim had broken into his heavily guarded Washington hideout, Slade was certain that the Bat’s were unaware of just how…functional…Tim could be.

The small, delicately boned foot beneath his thigh twitched in irritation. “Snookums,” Tim began, his face serious, “As your wife, everything you own belong to me.”

“Is that how it works?” Slade teased as he pulled Tim’s feet out from beneath their warm resting place to Tim’s disapproval. His thumb pressed into the arch of the younger man’s foot before he could voice said disapproval.

A soft moan slipped out of Tim’s mouth at the action.

“Now why don’t you tell me, exactly what’s bothering you baby doll?” Slade purred, his large calloused hands working away at the tension that always built up in Tim’s feet.

“Mft. That’s not even fair.” Tim muttered, his shoulders twitching as he slunk further back into the couch, melting at the action. “You can’t do these things to me when I’m angry. I’d like to be angry for at least a while.”

“Now now, sweetheart all that stress can’t be good for the baby.”

Tim huffed, “I’m starting to hate that joke.”

“And I’m starting to believe that you’re bipolar but that doesn’t stop me from coming around does it?”

Tim kicked his right foot out, “You didn’t come around I broke in. There’s a difference.”

Slade grabbed the flailing foot which had landed on his knee, suspended above the couch cushions. “What have they done this time?” He asked.

Tim turned his head, blinking rapidly, his breathing low and shallow. Ah, forced calm. The elder of the pair was far too familiar with Tim’s tactics.

“Now sweetheart.” Slade began, his grip turning to iron, locking Tim in place, “What. Did. They. Do.” His voice had turned to gravel deep and rough and Tim shuddered. Goosebumps rose on his arms and back. That voice did things to him that he could barely admit in the privacy of his mind let alone in public.

Slade was silent.

“I..” Tim began and then stopped, pursing his lips before continuing, “I always come here, I come to you when I…don’t feel well.”

Arching an eyebrow in question Slade allowed his grip to lessen but maintained his hold on Tim’s legs in case the bird thought of running.

“I don’t want to bother you.” Tim admitted.

“You never bother me.” Slade replied, his voice low, “I did, after all marry you darling.” He admonished gently.

Tim’s shoulders once again shifted to find a comfortable position as he contemplated on his next words, “It’s not that they did anything, not like last time with Bruce but…Jason’s back in the manor and so are Dick and Damian. It’s like they’re all family and I’m just…there…like furniture or the Batmobile. Useful but not meant for dinner or hugs, or anything…human.” The last words had been bitter, Tim’s hands turning to the covering of the couch, his fingernails plucking at the fabric.

“I’ll kill them.” Slade stated shocking an abrupt laugh from Tim’s lips, “What? No, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, what you meant was, husband of mine, your in-laws are being rude could you please remove them from this plane of existence.”

“I never said that.” Tim denied.

“You implied it. There was a face.” Slade gestured to his own face to convey his point, holding Tim’s feet together in one hand, his fingers nearly spanning both of Tim’s ankles. This too sent shivers down the younger ones spine.

“I didn’t make a face, I have a face.” Tim denied, pleased by the light conversation.

Slade set his hand down, moving to shift Tim onto his lap. He slowly let Tim’s feet fall so as to rest them over the tops of his thighs before slotting his fingers over Tim’s sides where his ribs formed hills and valleys. Pulling Tim up onto his lap, Slade let the smaller birds feet drag forward over the arm of the couch. The hands that were on his ribs migrated, one resting in the dip of his back, the other pressing Tim’s head into the crook of Slade’s neck.

Tim’s nose was filled with the scent of cologne and musk. Thick and earthy.

“..Darling, you already have a family separate from the Wayne’s. You are mine and while our marriage may have been…unintended, it is no less wanted. You are mine..”

Tim’s hand curled into the material of the mercenaries, of the man’s, of his husband’s shirt as he replied, “Always.” It was nice..belonging to someone. Being wanted. It was something Tim didn’t think he would ever want to give up. He wasn’t even sure he could at this point.

In silence Slade matched the tapping of his fingertips on the small of Tim’s back to the beat of the birds heart which thrummed as Tim pressed his chest closer to Slade’s own.


	4. And He Said He Was A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study of Tim and the things he’s learned. Tim is a loaded gun, his mother’s child and in search of a father...apparently. 
> 
> Notes: Depression, anxiety, kind of suicidal, panic attacks, OCD-ish behaviour. Basically a break down, so if any of these things bother you this has been your WARNING. Don’t read. Also I’m pretty sure the idea of Tim controlling his twitches was seen in Awful Child by hearts. I borrowed that.

Every gun is loaded in Gotham. Whether with bullets or rocks, or shrapnel made from street waste. Tell me this isn’t what love looks like. A gun loaded, pressed to the temple of a thirteen year old boy with blood in his mouth. Tell me this isn’t magic.

The boy swallows the thick redness of his insides, choking on every inhale. The man isn’t watching, his back to the training mats, his eyes on the screen and Tim is too far left for his reflection to show on the monitors.

We don’t confiscate guns Robin.

And Robin does not take guns.

Timothy plays with cool metal. Disassemble. Assemble. Disassemble. Assemble. Disassemble. Assemble. Disassemble. Assemble.

Breathe.

Disassemble. Assemble.

Repetition by nature is soothing. Repetition by nature wears grooves on the body and mind. Tim has gun callouses where there is no gun.

This is a magic trick.

Watch Tim disappear.

….

Repetition by nature brings clarity. One action after another. Disassemble. Assemble.

It is a lesson in breaking Tim has learned long ago. Every action needs a reaction and when the reaction is known the margin of error is severely diminished.

Tim is repetition given motion.

Disassemble. Assemble.

“B. Let’s go.” Assemble.

“Hi, Dad.” Disassemble.

Mask on. Mask off. Mask on. Mask off. Off. Off. Off. Get it off, off, off, off, off.

Repetition is ritual given practicality. Robin by nature is ritual.

Laughter in four to six second bursts. Fidgets at consistent intervals. Bruce would not like Tim when he fidgets, when he really fidgets and means it. That Tim is not Bruce’s. That Tim, composed of echo and empty spaces is not for Bruce.

Tim by nature is a silent, solitary child.

That is a lie.

Tim has been socialized to be a silent solitary child. It can not be determined if his silence is a personality trait or learned.

Disassemble.

“I’m going out for pizza with my friends.” Tim calls out in his plain jeans and collared shirts. A cream sweater is thrown on over top. Mother used to say that it made a person more approachable. Light colours and soft fabrics.

Mother by nature was not approachable.

Tim has always taken after his mother.

Gnawing on his bottom lip with purpose, with consciousness he leaves his father.

….

Assemble.

“We need to hit the Narrows.”

“We always hit the Narrows.”

Tim cannot remember who said what. If it was him or Bruce or both of them repeating scripted lines as though they were part of an elaborate movie set.

Breathe.

….

Mask last. Always the mask last. Remove the boots placing them at the corner by the bench. One by the other in a perfect line. Zip them up and buckle the buckles. Stand, remove the utility belt. Place it horizontally on the bench near the boots. The armoured tunic comes next. The wiring taken care of. The pants are last. The uniform is folded and Tim moves the utility belt on top of the uniform. Everything is a perfect square.

The mask is last. With the mask on he is still Robin. Assemble. Assemble. Assemble.

With the mask off he is Tim. Disassemble.

The lights flick on and off in two different homes and Tim switches between them like an errant butterfly. He is not a butterfly. He is not a bird. He is not any of the things he is pretending to be.

Breathe. This is the prevention of a panic attack years in the making. Repetition by nature can choke down the fear that everything will fall apart without the certainty of its construct. Tim is a loaded gun that has never been shot.

He is waiting for a hand to force the trigger.

Breathe in, breathe out. Every motion is more about control and less about being.

….

“Robin, let’s go.”

Robin goes. His mouth is opened slightly and he is breathing. Robin should breathe because if Robin breaks so will the Bat.

The cradle falls down.

Tim’s eyes flinch back and forth, his hearts beating in his chest. He is still breathing. He is assembled. He has not fallen yet. Breathe. Choke if you have to but breathe.

He wonders if the rest of the family lives with the weight of constant disappointment crushing their ribs down like barbed weights.

He is falling under the pressure. Each year is one more coffin that he has not yet been buried in.

Breathe.

….

Repetition is a sign of madness. Insanity is repeating the same thing over and over again while hoping for different results.

Over again. Over again. Over. Over. Over. Over. Over. Over.

Tim’s mind is a constant stutter, slinging to one thought before moving on to the next. Every breath is a choke hold, forcing him to stay in place. Assemble.

“Dad, wake up…please.”

Dissemble.

…

There is no hope in Gotham anymore.

“Welcome back…dad.”

Bruce stands tall if front of Tim, tired but alive.

Jack opens his eyes.

Welcome back dad.

Dad by nature is a puppet on a string played by mother. A cardboard cutout of a human being standing in for a patriarchal male figure.

Mother is the poison in his veins telling him to slit their throats in their sleep. Mother is the knife, mother is the head and neck of the family. When one is cut off another will form. Tim is the second head. Or third. Or fourth. He is heir to his mother and her alone, his body has sprung from the gash of her body.

He entered this world through her will and he will carry her always.

Mother is a mouth like a wound, slinging arrows and bombs with a smile.

Mother is 8 years dead.

Tim is the new head and he can no longer prop up the cardboard stand that is father, so father falls. Tim weeps for his failure.

Bruce reassures him that everything will be okay, that he has a place with Bruce.

Tim is not crying for Jack. Tim has never been taught to see Jack as a human being.

…..

Stumbling down an alleyway Tim chokes back as he’s always done. There’s a man waiting at the mouth. He’s dressed to kill and Tim is not Robin, he is Timothy.

He does not pull a gun.

Slade watches the boy walk towards him, his stride correcting itself. His gun is trained on a pale forehead but the kid does not flinch back. The kid grins and walks forward until that same pale forehead touched cool metal.

Bang.

“Bang.” The kid says, tilting his head.

Slade does not pull the trigger. He exhales, “Fuck kid."The gun goes back into the holster.

Kid’s eyes narrow, his mouth a snarl as lunges at Slade with no hope of winning. Slade pins his arms behind his back and pushes down. Hard enough to hurt. Kid is silent, his legs kicking out where they can.

"Kid, I will kill you if you don’t calm down-

The struggling gets worse, as though someone dropped a match on a gasoline. The kid moves like he’s on fire, with the same sort of blind desperation that leads people to jump from burning buildings, no matter how high.

Slade swears, pushing harder still until he hears the familiar pop of a shoulder dislocating. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Click.

Slade stops, freezing in position as a cold sinking feeling pours itself down his back.

"Do you want me to kill you?” He asks.

The kid’s back is shaking and he swears that the boy is crying until he hears the laugh. It’s more a repetitive sigh, but it’s there.

“Do you want me to die?” The kid shoots back, pushing his ass up against Slade’s groin. The cup was not made for grinding. He’s not sure if the brat is doing it for the attention or because he can but either way the boy needs to stop before Slade makes him stop.

“I was sent here to kill you Wayne.”

The laughing continues, “You won’t.” Tim’s voice sounds upset over that notion.

“I fully intend to carry our my orders.” The kid is annoying him.

“That’s nice cupcake.” Tim goads.

Slade applies pressure to his injured arm and the brat doesn’t even have the decency to scream.

….

“You know I’m not old enough to drink.”

“I don’t know shit.” Slade replies, nursing his whiskey slowly, the brat on the other side of the cushioned booth. They’re in the back with the lighting down low in one of the seedier establishments in Gotham city.

Slade desperately wants to kill whoever fed him the bullshit information about Timothy Drake-Wayne being a patsy who would fall easy. He was only the third Robin. Weak but dependable.

“You know everything big boy.” Tim drawls.

“How did they let you be Robin.” He asks.

Tim stirs his own drink, a fruity concoction made with far too flavours to be considered, taking a sip before fluttering his lashes and replying, “I volunteered.”

The kid in front of him looks like he’d volunteer for open heart surgery just to see his own heart beat. His answer is not reassuring. He’s too unafraid of death to be sane. To be present. All hero’s fear death and the most questionable villains don’t.

Everything will one day fade. The best of the hero’s accept and work through their fear. The best of the villains do the same. The ones who say they have no fear are pretending most of the time.

The ones who truly don’t are dangerous, because they have nothing to lose or fight for.

“Why aren’t you running. Most of the Robin’s I’ve met start running by now.” Slade questions.

“I’m not a Robin.” Tim singsongs, taking another sip of his fruity death drink.

“You’ve got the uniform, and the name.”

“I’ve got a lot of names.”

….

“Crazy bird.”

“Mr. Wilson. I’m inviting you to be my father, whether you accept the role or not it has been decided.”

“And what, pray tell does me being your father entail.”

“Most of the time you sit there, like an old shoe someone lost in the back of closet. Your only job is to stand there and look vaguely sad and disappointed.”


End file.
